


we had love that was holy

by owilde



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, No Dialogue, Post-Year Zero, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 08:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17342099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owilde/pseuds/owilde
Summary: Barbara wasn’t sure how she was supposed to do this by herself.She hadn’t felt alone in a long while.





	we had love that was holy

**Author's Note:**

> I was hit with random Babitha feels. Obvious spoilers for S5E1.

Barbara clutched the glass of whiskey in her hand, her knuckles turning white. The air around her was static, her mind was static – it was white noise, so horribly loud it blocked out everything else, and that… that was simultaneously a blessing and a curse. If she squeezed just a little tighter, she could close her eyes and almost lose herself in a dream where it was Oswald’s neck she was holding, and if she could imagine that, she could also almost imagine opening her eyes and seeing that it was reality.

But it wasn’t. What was reality was Tabitha’s body, lying on the other side of the room. The physical, metaphorical elephant in the room. The Schrödinger's elephant. A cross-section that was just a little shy of truly humorous.

A corner of Barbara’s mouth turned up, just a small tick, and she eased her grip. Tabitha wouldn’t have found it funny, probably. She would’ve rolled her eyes and called her something, something that would’ve made Barbara smile, but for the life of her, Barbara couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been that she would’ve said.

It was a morbid kind of scenario. Barbara brought the glass to her lips and took a long sip, feeling it burn down her throat. The ice clinked around as she set the glass down and leaned back on her chair, eyeing Tabitha. Or rather, the canvas covering Tabitha.

They’d been so young, when they’d met. Neither had yet blossomed, really, into what they could and had eventually become. So young, and so hardened by life, yet still _too_ soft, a little mushy around the edges.

That had disappeared quickly.

Tabitha had been a distraction, then she’d been an amusement, an enjoyment, a friend, a lover, a… something more than that. A constant. A planet, around which Barbara revolved – or maybe it was the other way around, but nevertheless, they were in an orbit around each other, and they would always find their way back.

Barbara wasn’t sure how she was supposed to do this by herself. She hadn’t felt alone in a long while – she’d hopped on from company to company, and some had been real and some had not, and some she’d killed and some had tried to kill her, but at least she’d had someone. Something. Something real, that surpassed the rest of the business.

Now that something was lying still twenty feet from her, and Barbara felt as though she was the only person left on Earth. And it fucking hurt.

She stood up, the whiskey forgotten on the table, and made her way slowly over to where Tabitha was as though pulled by an invisible line. It was still there, the connection – the need to gravitate towards her, always. Barbara’s heart ached, as much as she still had one after all that had happened.

If she was a monster (and surely she’d been called that at some point), then this had to be proof that even creatures corrupted into high hell could love and lose and mourn, just like the rest of the people. And if she could love, somewhat selflessly and somewhat purely, then surely that meant _something_.

This proved them all wrong. Barbara wasn’t an isolated fortress. She wasn’t an impossible, cold, sheltered off woman. She wasn’t unloving, or unlovable.

Because this, what she felt now – it had to mean something. All of this had to have meant something. Otherwise, Tabitha was just dead, and Barbara was just alone, and none of it had made any difference.

Barbara peeled the cover off Tabitha, unveiling her face. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were still painted, and a little bloody. Barbara reached out, her finger tracing odd patterns, from the corner of Tabitha’s mouth to her brow to the bridge of her nose.

She was still here, but soon, she wouldn’t be. For now, she was still here for Barbara to touch and see and remember, but when she wasn’t, how long would it take for Barbara to forget the details? Would she still be able to recall the shape of her eyes, fifteen years from now? Would she be able to hear her voice, her laughter?

When was the last time she’d said she loved Tabitha? And had she said it back?

Barbara withdrew her hand. A clock was ticking somewhere, moving forward despite every inch of Barbara resisting. If she could just have twelve hours back – twelve seemed very little. Twelve was nothing, not even a ripple. Twelve, and she could have her back. Twelve, and she could hold her again, feel her heart beat in her chest.

Barbara found herself sitting on the floor, leaning her back against the table, hugging her knees. She was trembling, and Tabitha was there – and Tabitha was fucking _dead_ , she wasn’t coming back, and all of it was too sudden and too real and too heavy on her chest.

She buried her head in her arms, eyes squeezed shut. Why couldn’t she remember the last ‘I love you’? She must’ve said it. Tabitha must’ve known, when the blade sank into her chest, that Barbara would never find another one like her.

The room was too quiet. The static was gone.

Barbara unraveled.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @ jamesgcrdcn !


End file.
